OLATUNDE OSINAIKE
broken ghazal for auto-tune
nah but for real / before you leave / teach me / how you create / sound so honeyed / screwed /
tell me that / you know i am both / in awe & air / as light as your echoed sunny / so screwed /
it must’ve been love / you jotted into the notes / in my riffs / & now my eyes muggy / screwed /
for the ninth time / since this black boy / revisited joy / after retracing it / to his throat / how lucky
i am / to be chopped / & ingredient to hone / lead me again to the processor / i want to be as yummy
as blind harmony is / to the diaphragm / & if i’m honest / all my showered adlibs / left unscrewed /
could do better than i / deserve a golden tongue / & exalted lips / to leap from / i want to unscrew /
the tremble / in my posture / & sacrifice it to your falsetto / i am too familiar / with unscrewing /
my legs / for the sake of running / it has been so long / since my croon / drifted home / lovely
& screwed / into the hum of comfort / so before you leave / teach me how to / make it linger
nah but for real / before you leave / teach me / how you create / sound so honeyed / screwed /
tell me that / you know i am both / in awe & air / as light as your echoed sunny / so screwed /
it must’ve been love / you jotted into the notes / in my riffs / & now my eyes muggy / screwed /
for the ninth time / since this black boy / revisited joy / after retracing it / to his throat / how lucky
i am / to be chopped / & ingredient to hone / lead me again to the processor / i want to be as yummy
as blind harmony is / to the diaphragm / & if i’m honest / all my showered adlibs / left unscrewed /
could do better than i / deserve a golden tongue / & exalted lips / to leap from / i want to unscrew /
the tremble / in my posture / & sacrifice it to your falsetto / i am too familiar / with unscrewing /
my legs / for the sake of running / it has been so long / since my croon / drifted home / lovely
& screwed / into the hum of comfort / so before you leave / teach me how to / make it linger
OutKast Speaks of Ways to Move
i like the way we all have to start somewhere –
so i chose the bar stool with its roof caved in,
all of the dried liquor now obsolete
its faded sting escorted out of this
drenched air of unholy conundrum, swerving
to the relapse on the shelves, the blur between
flushed & euphoric could rename me paranoid
& this is what i know of diagnoses, how not to obey
the unforgiving ask of your body before excuses
watermark themselves onto your tongue
& you swear you can taste clarity as thick as reason
while the adjacent mirror preserves the vague
unison your eyes mistake for a sedated past
& here comes Big Boi next cheering
we’re tapping right into your memory banks
& everyone to my left responds thanks
as the bass hits, my mind sprints first to
the bridge of this song being mine also,
hoping the extra syllable of mo-o-ove
was for the spirits we needed
more time to swallow –
how timing never races to beat its own time,
how the muted tapping of our thumbs measure
how long ago our starts signaled some sure finish,
how the throbbing of our temples have their ways too
& i love the way i love the way
i like the way we all have to start somewhere –
so i chose the bar stool with its roof caved in,
all of the dried liquor now obsolete
its faded sting escorted out of this
drenched air of unholy conundrum, swerving
to the relapse on the shelves, the blur between
flushed & euphoric could rename me paranoid
& this is what i know of diagnoses, how not to obey
the unforgiving ask of your body before excuses
watermark themselves onto your tongue
& you swear you can taste clarity as thick as reason
while the adjacent mirror preserves the vague
unison your eyes mistake for a sedated past
& here comes Big Boi next cheering
we’re tapping right into your memory banks
& everyone to my left responds thanks
as the bass hits, my mind sprints first to
the bridge of this song being mine also,
hoping the extra syllable of mo-o-ove
was for the spirits we needed
more time to swallow –
how timing never races to beat its own time,
how the muted tapping of our thumbs measure
how long ago our starts signaled some sure finish,
how the throbbing of our temples have their ways too
& i love the way i love the way
Olatunde Osinaike is a Nigerian-American poet originally from the West Side of Chicago. He is Black, still learning and eager nevertheless. An alumnus of Vanderbilt University, his most recent work has appeared, or is forthcoming, in Apogee Journal, Split Lip Magazine, Up the Staircase Quarterly, Heavy Feather Review, among other publications. He is also working on publishing his first chapbook.